


I Just Want to Tell the Whole World

by Batwynn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Short One Shot, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batwynn/pseuds/Batwynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one thing Derek Hale hates almost as much as, fire, bad memories associated with fire, certain Argent family members, Peeps, and Peter are surprises. </p><p>So, when life springs a little surprise by the name of Stiles on him for Christmas, Derek screams. </p><p>[Aka: The one based on those two foxes screeching in love.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Want to Tell the Whole World

 

 

[ This is because of this post: [Screaming Foxes](http://sterektrashbag.tumblr.com/post/135584395608/idareu2bme-mack-potato-winterurie) ] 

* * *

  
  


The one thing Derek Hale hates almost as much as, fire, bad memories associated with fire, certain Argent family members, Peeps, and Peter are _surprises_.

  
  


Surprises are people's way of making up for the fact that they have no idea what you _actually_ want for 'enter holiday here', and obviously don't know enough about you to be called a friend, anyway. There are no exceptions to this rule. Surprise parties, surprise babies, surprise dates, surprise, _you're dating a murderer_.

No, Derek made no exceptions. Surprises are not welcome in his life.

  
  


Then, Stiles shows up in his loft on Christmas eve, smiling brightly and already babbling about seeing his breath outside, and _Santa hats are a must_ , and he's baked something, Derek can smell it, and there's this box in his arms, and he smells amazing—not just like cookies, but something better, something special and—

and Derek just _screams_.

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


“--So, Sourwwwhoaaah, okay, holy shit!?” Stiles babbles, nearly dropping the massive box he had clutched to his chest. It's a good thing he didn't, there were fragile things in there. Fragile like his ears, because damn, what the _hell_ is that noise, even? “Derek, are you dying? Why are you making dying noises?”

  
  


Derek sort of tilts his head, sends a one-eyed glare at him, and screeches some more. Stiles makes note of the flush crawling up the older man's neck and into his cheeks. By the time Derek's dying noises finally peter out, his ears are dangerously red, and Stiles is pretty sure he's going to be murdered for something he didn't do.

  
  


“Right, that was new and fun and interesting,” he says as casually as possible, while he causally puts the box on the floor, and casually doesn't laugh his ass off. “Care to explain that little phenomena?”

“No.”

  
  


“Are you dying?”

  
  


“No.”

  
  


“Uh huh... are you okay, though?”

  
  


“... no.”

  
  


Wonderful, he's switched to Monosyllabic Derek, who looks like he's ready to throw himself off the loft's balcony at this point.

  
  


So Stiles tries this again. “Okay, i'm going to close the door now, and come in, alright?”

Derek grunts, and it's not a 'yes', but it's not a 'no', either. So, Stiles does just that, and he leaves the box by the door because who knows what's going on at this point. A grown wolf-man just screeched at him for a solid 2 minutes, and he kind of has this horrible feeling it's all _his_ fault somehow.

  
  


“So, I'm going to just—” he gestures to the couch before sitting, while Derek continues to glare and cross his arms across his chest. “Look, dude, if you get anymore defensive you're going to need turrets and a moat. Loosen up, let it all out, maybe scream some more.”

Derek snaps a predictable, “Shut up,” and doesn't loosen up at all.

  
  


“You're not hurt, right?” Stiles asks, instead of shutting up. “Because you didn't sound like you were in pain, exactly, or, like, super frustrated. That's usually more of a roar, anyway, and come on, man, all I did was walk in the door.”

  
  


Derek slips into Non-syllable mode. Very helpful, much adult.

  
  


“Riiight, okay, you're going to make me guess and base my deduction off of your eyebrow levels.”

  
  


Derek's eyebrows furrow to a level 1. “My _what_?”

  
  


And Stiles waves him off. “Never mind that, more important things to deal with. Like the screaming thing? That thing you did when you opened the door? The screechy, loud, weird—“

  
  


“I get it, Stiles,” Derek interrupts. “Look, can we pretend that didn't happen, and you go home, and not be here anymore?”

  
  


“Nope, can't leave. Scotty drove me over.”

  
  


“Call Scott to come pick you up.”

  
  


“No can do, he's off getting his Christmas grind on with Kira before the usual amazing dinner made by his mom, mooched off of by my dad and I.”

Derek does his creepy leer, and says, “Then I'll call your dad, and tell him you're _trespassing_ , and you can ruin everyone else's Christmas.”

“Wow, okay,” Stiles huffs, not impressed. Derek only gets this bratty when it was something close to home, like family, or romance stuff. “If you do that, I'll call Christ Argent and ask him if he knows anything about wolves screeching at people randomly. I'm sure he'll have some insight, he usually does.”

That finally does the trick, and when Derek visibly deflates in front of him, Stiles knows he's probably going to get the truth. They were getting better about that, being honest with each other. Okay, a little bit better, there were still things he hasn't told Derek—he might tell him today, he planned on telling him today—and there were obviously a lot of things the guy hasn't told him, either.

  
  


“It's not... strictly a werewolf thing,” Derek begins, ducking his head to scratch at the back of his neck a few times. He's tensing up again, which means he's either going to back down and probably go run out his feelings in the woods, or he's going to clamp up and say nothing for the rest of his friggen life. Which, no... this needs to be worked out. He needs to know what the screaming was, it's obviously a thing, and Derek needs to explain this thing.

At these times, however, Stiles finds that it works better for him not to open his mouth. Derek doesn't do well with prompting. Or surprise Christmas visits that didn't even come to full fruition. He has decorations in there, cookies even. Derek was putting a major dent in his plans with this nonsense.

  
  


“It's a call.”

  
  


“Of the Wild?” and there he goes, not following his own rules. Nice job.

  
  


“About your... mate,” Derek grits out, and wow, okay, he's not even looking in Stiles' direction anymore. Not that Stiles can even handle eye-to-eye contact right now because _what did he just say?!_

  
  


“Mate,” he says, trying the word out. “Werewolf mate. _Your_ werewolf mate.”

  
  


“They don't have to be a werewolf.”

  
  


Stiles stares at Derek's intense man-arms, instead of any of that face-area there. Just in case the dude decides to look at him again. “Oookaayy... so, we're saying... what exactly?”

  
  


“That... I have a mate, and my wolf just recognized hi-them.”

  
Well then, that's... that's kind of... speaking of putting dents in Stiles' plans. He can't help but sink in on himself, because what did that even mean? Derek already has a mate-dating-person? Since when? Why the hell did he wait until Stiles came over to screech about it, anyway? Is he just rubbing it in his face? What a dick move. What a... not Derek thing to do—he wasn't like that, come on Stiles, use your brain. It's not that hard.

  
  


They've been hanging out for a month now—well, more than a month, but Stiles counts it as a month because that's when they started hanging out one-on-one, instead of pack get-togethers only. In this month, Stiles has seen Derek smile—actually smile, not smirk or do that shark-grin thing when he's being sarcastic—he's heard him laugh, no, even better, he's _made_ him laugh. A lot, actually. They've cooked for each other, they've watched movies, criticized said movies, dozed off together, saved one another from some nasty dude or another, ditched someone else to hang out—mostly Stiles, Derek doesn't really have anyone else to monopolize his time, which is sad—and even flirt at each other. (Again, mostly Stiles. But Derek snorts at the cheesy pick-up lines, so it's a win-win)

  
  


Stiles took all of these things as a sign that he wasn't completely crazy, that he might have a chance, that he should put together a box of Christmas stuff and bring a little Christmas Cheer back in to Derek Hale's life because the guy is lonely, and sad, and Stiles _loves_ his stupid, grumpy ass.

  
  


And maybe he should have called first, but that was no reason to... no... wait.

  
  


“Wait...” he says out loud, and Derek goes painfully still. “Wait, you said your wolf 'recognized' –I'd just walked in the door, there's no one else who—It's... you're talking about _me_. It's me, isn't it?”

  
  


Now he needs to see Derek's eyes, he has to know right this second, so he launches himself off the couch and stalks closer to him. Derek's still frozen, looking firmly at some point in the corner of the room, and the red is back in his cheeks again, and his adorable ears, and oh shit, Stiles needs to kiss him. If he's right. If he's not completely insane.

  
  


“Derek...”

  
  


“Hnn...”

  
  


“Am I your mate?” he asks gently, stopping just in front of him. “I need to know.”

  
  


“Mmh.”

  
  


“That's really not helpful, big guy. We use words. I'll settle with just a 'yes' or 'no' at this point, you don't have to officially announce it to the whole world or anything.”

  
  


There's one of those world-ending pauses that Stiles hates, hates, hates so much, oh my god—and then Derek's looking at him at last. All blue eyed, looking vulnerable and a little amazed, and almost _hungry_.

  
  


“Yes,” he rasps, “And i've known for a while.”

  
  


Stiles smacks his stupid muscle arms and glowers. “Are you kidding me right now?! You knew, and you didn't _say_ anything? What the hell, man?”

  
  


“I couldn't, you were—there were things—“

  
  


Stiles scoffs, “ _Things_?!”

 

“Complicated things... I wasn't sure, and I didn't want...” Derek trails off, eyebrows crunching together at a level 2. “I was ignoring it, until I was sure, and then that just happened so... yeah.”

  
  


Okay, Stiles can accept that kind of lackluster explanation. He's been on the fence about this whole thing himself, terrified that he was reading it all wrong, that he was clinging to Derek for other reasons. Not-so-great reasons. So, he lets it go. This is good enough—this is more than good enough, this is magical soul-mate stuff.

  
  


“I accept your screaming proposal, then, and request a Christmas kiss to seal the deal,” he states in his 'Royal voice'.

  
  


“It wasn't a—“

  
  


“Just kiss me, you idiot.”

  
  


Derek's lips twitch into one of those tiny, fond smiles Stiles has been counting over the last few months, and he leans in closer—oh so much closer than he's used to and— _holy god, this is intense._

  
  


And the just before they're touching, the jerk says, “Only because you asked nicely,” and kisses him.

  
  


It's tiny, and just lips pressed against lips, but Derek's holding on to him like this is another one of those wold-ending moments, and weird screeching aside, it's fucking _perfect_.

  
  


Then, someone's knocking on the door, and Derek looks adorably pissed at being interupted.

  
  


“Oh, right... so, I kind of lied, and kudos to me, you totally didn't pick it up with your werewolf ears.”

Not letting him go for a second, Derek growls, “Stiles... who is at my door.”

  
“So, I might have actually invited everyone—“

  
  


“ _Everyone_?”

  
  


“The pack,” Stiles corrects, flashing a sheepish smile. “I thought it was high time we had a Christmas together, and you've got the best space here, and I was kind of going to tell you my feelings once everyone was at least a little drunk and I had a chance to run away if you said 'no', and well, what do you know, I didn't have to, and now they're here, and i'm sorry? I think. A little.”

  
  


Derek looks torn between smiling, and scowling, which is pretty weird, and he's just about to say something when the door slides open and Scott announces himself with a loud, cheerful, 'Hello!'

  
  


Of course, Stiles invited everyone, so everyone's getting a nice eyeful of Stiles and Derek wrapped up in a nice hug thing, and their faces are pretty funny. But it gets _better_ , because Derek takes one look at them, tilts his head up, and starts screaming again.   
  
  


And it's a horrible sound, and kind of embarrassing, and it's probably not Derek's fault his wolf has to do this, so Stiles just tosses his head back and screeches along with him.

Because, apparently, they did have to announce it to the world.

 

  
  


  
  



End file.
